


Day 1: Red

by vampirepunks



Series: Blood & Water: Moments from N7 Month [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Akuze (Mass Effect), Angst and Tragedy, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Ficlet, Gen, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Shepard Twins (Mass Effect), Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirepunks/pseuds/vampirepunks
Summary: John Shepard focuses on staying alive after the thresher maw attack on Akuze.
Series: Blood & Water: Moments from N7 Month [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000095
Kudos: 6





	Day 1: Red

It’s the dawn of the third day. The sand that was once stained red and had dried to a bitter brown now fades further as the winds carry the remnants of forty-nine soldiers’ lifeblood away. It’s blowing East. He’s thankful for that; when the particulate-littered breeze wafts West, toward him, the acrid stench of death fills his nose. Three days already, sheltering under the wreckage of their Grizzly. He’s been unable to sleep and terrified every time he feels the ground quake beneath him, wracked with fear and adrenaline with every motion because too sudden of a move could bring the thresher maw right back up on top of him. He’s been weak and thirsty, his leg broken from the fall he took when the creature first attacked. 

The corpses that were left on the surface have begun to decay. Their skin has reddened and chapped unprotected from the sun, their flesh bloated, but he knows each face. Solsby, the relentless pessimist with a dark but admittedly hilarious sense of humor. Fowles, the kid with a high, nasal laugh and a chip on his shoulder. Arwell, the woman with the striking gray eyes and bright ideas about progressive patriotism… They’re the few he can see, just a meter or two away. There are others laid out in the distance and dozens more beneath the sand. 

He’d crawled to pluck the canteens off of the bodies closest, inched slowly and deliberately across the sand. The water has been enough to sustain him this far, but he needs medi-gel, needs food. He won’t last much longer without resources. The scarlet spots of his own blood staining the sand should scare him, but they don’t. All he can think about when he sees it is Little Louie in the Reds, telling him that Shepard blood was strong, how the guy was half convinced John and his sister couldn’t be killed. Whatever the hell that meant, it consumes him now, keeps him holding fast to the sliver of hope and ocean of uncut resolve within him to just _survive_. The red hue gives him something to ground himself—it reminds him of the neon lights of the San Antonio skyline at night, the red jacket Jane used to wear proudly in those days… That same red jacket stays tucked away in the back of her closet or very bottom of her suitcase at all times, the color that makes her eyes glow like green fire that can cut through anyone with the nerve to stand in her way. _If it were Jane, she’d survive this_. They say every soldier has their moment, make or break, where they find out what they’re made of. Jane’s came as a sweeping victory, a medal to her name and Elysium soil soaked with terrorist blood. He’d wanted to live up to that example, to catch just a taste of the glory in her shadow. So, he’d volunteered to watch forty-nine marines die by his side and spend days awake and injured, taking shelter in a sliver of shade and _praying_ the maw doesn’t find him. Fate had marked the two of them from day one, and he fell short. He takes the last sip of water and chokes back a sob as he begins to panic. _Janey-bug, don’t let me die here. Not like this._

At nightfall, there’s a shuttle in the distance, decorated with Alliance blue. A flash of a red shoulder-guard appears in the moonlight as a sign of salvation. N7. A shiver runs through his bones, making him clench his teeth. His throat feels like it’s filled with dust. If they come close, they’re dead too. They don’t know, they didn’t _see_ the way the behemoth creature blindsided them, rising from the ground spitting acid, shrugging off bullets like spitballs, shrieking and dragging good soldiers beneath the ground, never to be seen again. He grasps his gun and begins to crawl, hissing through the pain radiating up from his leg and setting his nerves on fire. Centimeter by delicate centimeter, he crawls toward the shuttle, vision nothing but red, red, red through the last of his strength. He doesn’t know how much time passes until he makes it to the landing zone, but he’s swept up in strong arms, face pressed against cold hard armor. 

He sobs, unable to focus his eyes or look up at her face. 

Her voice is distorted through the helmet. 

“John! John, come on! It’s okay, we’re going home. I’m taking you home now, it’s over,” his sister whispers, cradling his limp figure against her small armored frame. 

_It’s never over._

“Anderson, I’ve got him. He’s alive. I think he’s the only one.” 

“ _Jane,_ ” he says. The name comes out of his mouth as a squeak more than a word. It’s the first thing he’s said in days and the last word he’ll utter for weeks. 


End file.
